


Photographs

by Shiba_K



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Happy Ending, Little bit of angst, Photographs, Pin ups
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-07 18:28:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12238311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shiba_K/pseuds/Shiba_K
Summary: One afternoon, while waiting in her flat for Clara to come home from work, the Doctor does a bit of snooping around and finds a little more than he bargained for.





	Photographs

**Author's Note:**

> There is very little to no plot involved here. Possibly a little out of character, but I just needed to write a bit of smut.

‘Clara!!!’ 

The Doctor’s excited yell echoed throughout the silent apartment. The man himself exited his time ship, not bothering with closing the blue door, and wandered through the various rooms of Clara’s apartment in search of his companion.

‘Clara! Clara! Clara?’ 

His calls were met with silence. The apartment’s owner was nowhere to be found and the Doctor stood inside Clara’s bedroom with a confused frown on his face.

‘Clara?’ 

Still nothing. 

He had already checked all of the other rooms; her bedroom had been the last. His eyes took in the unmade bed with the rumpled sheets lying half on the floor, her messy vanity and the chair in front of it, a shirt thrown haphazardly across the back. The three mirrors reflected his own face back to him from three different angles, his cloudy gray eyes showing the disappointment he felt at not having found Clara. But much like the other rooms he had inspected, her bedroom yielded no clues as to his companion’s possible whereabouts. 

With a twinge of frustration, the Doctor left her bedroom and headed toward her kitchen. He shot a brief glance at his TARDIS which stood in Clara’s living room with her door open, beckoning to her travelers. The coordinates were already set, her engines idling and ready to take Clara and him to their new destination with the flick of a switch. If he could find Clara first, that was. 

Entering the kitchen, he scanned the small room, his eyes lingering for a moment on the few dirty dishes sitting in the sink waiting to be washed. The blinds were down, but not shut entirely, allowing some rays of sunlight to filter through and illuminate Clara’s kitchen. Walking over to the stove, he touched the kettle. Cold. 

Where could she possibly be? 

As he pondered the question, the Doctor’s eyes fell on the clock mounted on the wall above the small fish tank. 

3.38

The light levels in the kitchen only served to confirm it was late afternoon. Mystery solved: Clara was still out teaching. 

If the Doctor remembered correctly she wouldn’t be home till about half past five. He contemplated if he should hop forward with the TARDIS, skip the two hours he would have to wait and then dazzle her with his stellar driving skills. Contemplated it and ultimately dismissed the idea. His spotless driving skills sometimes weren’t exactly what one would call perfect. Clara liked to point that out to him, much to his chagrin, after he had landed them in the wrong century, or on the wrong planet. 

No, the Doctor decided, he would sit and wait for Clara to arrive, lest he overshot by two weeks instead of two hours. He could wait. Two hours were nothing for a Time Lord like him, a mere blink of the eye really. He blinked. The clock’s hands hadn’t budged a millimeter. Scowling, he took out his sonic sunglasses. The clock had to be faulty. Human technology wasn’t always reliable, especially not when it came to measuring time. The scan’s results however, showed that the clock was working perfectly. Or as perfectly as it could be. Well, if he had to kill time, he could at least make sure that Clara’s timepiece worked properly. There, a quick adjustment with his specs and the clock now ran with the precision of an atomic clock. 

Only 21 seconds had passed. 

_Patience, patience, patience_ , the Doctor repeated to himself as he began to grow frustrated. Eyeing the kettle, he decided to make himself some tea. That would set him up for about five minutes. After filling the kettle and turning on the stove, he sat down on one of the table chairs, staring unseeing at the little blue flames dancing under the kettle. That was, until he remembered something that Clara had once told him, something about a watched pot never boiling. 

Should he take that literally? The Doctor immediately dismissed the idea. Surely any self-respecting scientist would dismiss such claims without so much as a second thought. Watching water boil had absolutely no influence on the time it would take for the liquid to heat up until it reached its boiling point. 

How long had the kettle been on the stove now? 

He glared at the stainless-steel container, daring it to whistle. It didn’t let out so much as a beep. A seed of doubt then began to grow in his mind. Perhaps he ought not to tempt fate. Blinking, the Time Lord redirected his gaze to the pile of papers, magazines and envelopes stacked in a corner of the Clara’s kitchen table. Shifting mindlessly through the items, he wondered why Clara received so much mail. There were two fashion magazines with glossy covers proclaiming the best diets and work-outs, several official looking envelopes which the Doctor summarized to be bills, a forgotten lesson plan, an old post-card from a friend and lastly, an unmarked, manila envelope. A big, unmarked manila envelope. His curiosity was piqued. 

The kettle chose that moment to announce that the water was finally boiling, its shrill whistle cut through the silence in the room. 

Laying the envelope down, the Doctor rose from his chair to turn off the stove. He was quick in preparing his tea, having long become familiar with where everything was. Teabags in the left cabinet, second shelf. Same as the sugar. Mugs on the bottom shelf. Grabbing the TARIDS blue one with the words #1 stick insect, a gag gift from Clara, he fixed his tea just the way he liked it: strong and sugary sweet. 

Returning to the table, he set the steaming mug down next to the unmarked envelope and shrugged off his coat, draping it on the back of the chair leaving him in his waistcoat, before sitting down. He eyed the envelope sitting there so temptingly. Curiosity gnawed at him, but he knew Clara would not appreciate him nosing through her stuff. It was on a flash card. No, he wouldn’t open the envelope. 

Taking a careful sip of his tea, the Doctor turned his attention to the fish bowl on top of her washing machine. He watched as the two fishes swam in random circles, occasionally stopping and staring back at him through the glass. The brown envelope a silent bystander of the odd exchange. 

This went on for another four minutes, the fishes and the Doctor staring at each other, the only interruption the occasional sip of tea he took, until, finally, the Time Lord finally couldn’t take it anymore. Taking a last large gulp of his tea, he snatched the envelope up and tore it open, its contents spilling out on the table. He half chocked, half spat the hot tea out, spraying it partially over the glossy surface of the photographs now spread out on the table. Some of the tea even splattered on the glass of the fish bowl, its occupants recoiling in disgust. 

From the table’s surface several photographs of Clara stared back at him. Photographs of Clara showing large expanses of creamy white skin which contrasted beautifully with the rich color of a very familiar looking red velvet coat that barely managed to cover the barest of essentials. The same red velvet coat that was now draped on the back of the chair he was sitting on. 

With a stunning jump, the Doctor leaped from his chair stumbling and landing hard on his ass, all the time coughing and spluttering to rid his lungs of the inhaled tea. The commotion had disturbed the photographs, one of them sliding down to floor next to him. He eyed it in abject horror, his gaze shifting from its glossy surface to his coat, innocently covering the back of the chair he had just occupied, and back to the photograph. 

The figure of Clara Oswald had been immortalized sitting on a stool wearing his red velvet coat and what appeared to be little else, holding a stethoscope to the breastbone of a skeleton. The Doctor’s eyes traced a slow path over Clara’s body, despite a large part of his brain telling him to look away. Another part however, incited him to take a very good and long look at the scene displayed on the photograph. 

Against his better judgement that was exactly what he did, letting his eyes travel from her dainty feet along her toned legs, drinking in the sight of Clara’s shapely calves and muscular thighs, a result of all the running they did on a regular basis. The Clara in the photograph was sitting with her legs crossed, the action having caused the coat flap to fall away and expose the entire length of her left leg right up to her hip. Her bare hip. A choking sound rose from his throat that that had nothing to do with him inhaling his tea instead of drinking it, and everything with the realization that his Clara was naked underneath his coat. 

The Doctor’s eyes went round and he was sure his hearts had just seized. 

_Oh gods, Clara. Naked Clara. Naked Clara wearing my clothes._

His hearts started up again at the thought, pumping hard to push blood away from his brain and to other areas of his body that were making his clothing feel rather hot and constricting. He needed to look away, _now_ , before his mind conjured up images of those shapely legs wrapped around his waist, holding him close as he… He managed to screw his eyes shut, shaking himself out of his fantasy. But he was weak-willed and too mesmerized by what was on display to look away for long. 

Reopening his eyes, they immediately zeroed in on Clara’s figure, eagerly resuming their journey. 

The Doctor’s breath was loud in the stillness of the late afternoon and he inhaled sharply when his gaze settled on the next bit of exposed skin. The top button of the red coat had been left undone leaving the tantalizing curves of Clara’s breasts bare to his hungry stare. Higher, Clara’s face was the picture of concentration as she listened with her stethoscope for the skeleton’s heart, a flash of white teeth biting down on dark red lips, the color of her lipstick matching perfectly with that of the Doctor’s coat. 

He was going to regenerate, he was sure of it. All the signs pointed toward it: his skin prickled and his blood was on fire, racing through his veins and quickly spreading heat throughout his normally cool body which centered low in his belly. 

This had to stop, he needed to get himself under control. He was a Time Lord for god’s sake, a bit of skin should not affect him this way, even if it was Clara’s. 

Groaning, the Doctor rubbed his face with his left hand, reclining backward and resting his back on the floor, the coolness of the linoleum floor soothing against his abnormally warm skin. 

_Deep breaths, Doctor, deep breaths. Think black holes, think gravitational forces capturing light waves. Red light has a wave length of about 690 nanometers. Clara wearing red, red lipstick, red velvet, long fingers pushing the red velvet aside to reveal creamy white mounds, nuzzling them…_

A strangled moan tore the Doctor from his fantasy world and he scrambled up and away from the accursed photograph. Oh Rassilon, this human woman was going to be the death of him. Getting up and retreating to the farthest corner of the kitchen, he gripped the edges of Clara’s counter hard enough to turn his knuckles white and glared at the scattered photos. 

His palms felt clammy as they clung to the counter, his breath labored and his trousers were too tight, a tall-tale bulge giving away the effect the photographs had had on him. And every time he blinked, the Doctor saw more images of Clara clad in red velvet flash before his eyes. God, wouldn’t it be just his luck if the object of his tortured mind would come in right in that precise moment and find him like this? The man who loathed physical contact, reduced to a mess of hormones and arousal by the sight of a bit of skin and desperately yearning to caress it.

But gods, Clara was breathtakingly beautiful. And enticing, and would surely be his doom. 

Letting out another groan, the Doctor scrubbed his hands over his face then carded his fingers through his hair, tugging hard at the silver curls. The pain helped to ground him as he desperately sought to calm down. With his eyes closed, he concentrated on recalling the calculations he had been working on in the TARDIS, imagining his chalkboard covered in equations, his mind slowly picking up where he had left off. 

He had solved two more mathematical problems before the Doctor felt he had regained enough control over himself. Bowing his head, he fixated his gaze on the floor, noticing absentmindedly the fading pattern worn out by Clara’s steps. 

Clara Oswald was forbidden fruit to him, had been since his regeneration. Since he had discovered that little by little and certainly without his permission, she had become his lifeline. Losing her would destroy him, that was as true as the earth rotating around the sun. He had no idea who he had tried to fool with his whole ‘I’m against the hugging’ spiel. She had already been branded onto his hearts and soul. Not touching her made no difference, except torture himself because he did want to hold her close, grab her hand when they ran, hug her when she was sad, hug her when she was happy. 

But like the stubborn man that he was, he had stuck to his resolution which had left him with the sour taste of missed opportunities and few memories after PE’s death and the Cybermen debacle. Though he was nothing if not a fast learner. Christmas and second chances had seen him abandon his resolutions in the blink of an eye. Clara had been surprised at first, before quickly warming up to it. 

Still, cuddles and a kiss on the cheek did not mean that Clara wanted a more intimate form of contact with him, or so he thought. Their friendship was wonderful and he would do nothing to jeopardize it. Which meant that he needed to get rid of the evidence of his snooping before Clara returned home and banish what he had seen to a dark corner of his mind.

Reluctantly pushing himself away from the counter, the Doctor stooped to retrieve the fallen photograph and then gathered the ones remaining on the table top to put them back in their brown envelope. He tried hard to detach himself from the actions, not focusing on the contents of the photographs and most certainly not dwelling on questions of why the photographs had been taken, or who had taken them. 

As the Doctor gathered the photographs and lined them up, a small note fell free and fluttered to the floor. Bending down to retrieve it, he saw that there was something written on the back so he turned it over. 

His jaw clenched as he read the hastily scribbled words:

_Had a fantastic time, Clara. Thank you for posing, you were wonderful._

_You definitely have to come back and do some more work ;)_

_Love, Jack_

He stared hard at the last two words almost burning a hole in the paper with the intensity of his glare: Love, Jack. Love. Jack. 

Who was this pudding brain to take such liberties with his Clara? Whoever this Jack person was, the Doctor felt a deep hatred toward him fester inside his chest. This Jack had pressed the button of the shutter, had directed how Clara should sit, how much to reveal, might even have touched her skin. And here he was asking her to pose again and writing that their previous time had been fantastic. 

A growl escaped from behind his clenched teeth and the paper crinkled in his grip as his fingers curled into a tight fist. Jealousy reared its ugly green head, settling heavily in his stomach like a brick and filling him with a mixture of poisonous emotions that made him want to punch something, preferably Jack. His whole frame was coiled with tension, muscles taut and knuckles nearly white from the strength of his grip. His reaction scared him. Violence was something he always tried to prevent, but now… now he desperately wanted to hit something. Or kiss Clara until they were both breathless and show the whole universe she belonged to him. Him, and not some photographer named Jack. 

The Doctor settled for banging his forehead against a cupboard, the action strong enough to cause the cups inside to rattle. He did it once more then stopped, his skull protesting loudly and fearing the safety of Clara’s cups. It had taken the edge off, but his right hand still twitched at his side so he brought it up and rested it flat on the counter. Simply resting his forehead against the abused cabinet door, he idly watched his fingers as he splayed them, gripping the counter with his fingertips and then relaxing his hand again. His left hand rose to join its twin on the white countertop. His head and mind were full of tormenting thoughts of semi-naked Claras, his mess of feelings toward her and deep-seated fear of losing her. 

He was so absorbed in his in the jumble of his thoughts that he even failed to hear Clara’s cheerful greeting coming from the corridor. 

Upon entering her flat, Clara immediately noticed the Doctor’s time machine occupying a large part of her living room. The shape was unmistakable even in the dim light of the apartment. The sight instantly brought a bright smile to her lips. It was overly quiet though, which she took as a sign that the Doctor was still inside his TARDIS. Either that or he was snooping in her bedroom. But since today Courtney Woods had behaved making her day all the more bearable, she chose to give her alien friend the benefit of the doubt. 

Dropping her bags near the door and shrugging off her coat, Clara hollered out a greeting to the Doctor and made her way to the kitchen with a spring in her step. However, she stopped dead in her tracks, eyes wide, when she saw the hunched figure of the Time Lord in her kitchen. Her happy smile vanished, the air of despondency that surrounded him almost palpable. 

He hadn’t even acknowledged her presence and that was what truly scared her. This was not normal behavior for the man who always seemed to be aware of her, no matter what. 

Carefully, not wanting to startle him, Clara stepped closer to him, softly calling his name, all the while her brain ran a list of things from bad to worst that could have happened to him while she had been teaching. 

This time though, the Doctor did hear her which did little to reassure her as his reaction only puzzled her further. 

The Time Lord jumped upon hearing his name, the sound of Clara’s voice cutting clear through his muddled thoughts. He swiveled around to find Clara standing a few feet away and frowning at him in obvious concern. He froze, staring back at her like a startled owl. 

Confusion now mixed with her previous concern, Clara moved closer to him, her hand reaching for his. 

‘Doctor, what’s going on?’ 

He recoiled from her touch as if burned, his breathing growing heavier. His gaze flitted over the room nervously, catching first sight of the photographs still on the table and his abandoned cup of tea, followed by the flicker of hurt in her eyes at his reaction to her touch. Eventually his eyes settled on a random spot on the white countertop. Ashamed. 

The need to flee was almost overpowering. He had been caught with his shields down, his emotions written all too clearly on his face for Clara to see. If Clara had indeed found someone else she did not deserve his anger. He could not blame her for wanting to have someone who could express their love for her freely. Second chances weren’t there forever. He knew that now.

Fleeing, however, wasn’t an option as long as Clara blocked the kitchen doorway. And despite not wanting to expose Clara to his bitterness, if he couldn’t retreat to lick wounds, it was all too easy for him to revert to his prickly persona. 

‘I wasn’t aware you were _dating_.’ 

Clara didn’t think she had ever heard the word dating being spoken with so much revulsion.

She frowned, understanding at once what he was doing but still hating that he felt the need to this. She had learned in those early months after he had regenerated how to make him snap out of it quickly, though it seemed that this time the Doctor was on a roll. She barely had the time to open her mouth before he lashed out again. 

‘I’ll be sure to get you back on time from now on. Wouldn’t want you to be late for a date,’ he sneered. 

Sometimes it still surprised her how quickly the Doctor’s whole demeanor could transform, shifting from one emotion to the other in the blink of an eye and leaving her reeling and struggling to catch up. This time though, her own irritation flared up. He could bloody well explain what the hell was going on, and tone down the attitude while he was at it, thank you very much. She wasn’t in the mood for having wild accusations thrown at her. 

How the hell he had suddenly arrived at the conclusion that she was seeing someone was beyond her. How could she when her days were divided between teaching and gallivanting about in the TARDIS with him. 

‘Perhaps it would be best if we went back to Wednesdays. I’m sure you’d like to spend more time with _Jack_ , since you had such a fantastic time with him,’ the Doctor spat clearly not yet finished. 

Jack? What?

Clara blinked, now utterly confused. She had absolutely no idea whom the Time Lord was referring to. 

It must have shown on her face, a frown drawing her eyebrows together and brown eyes now gazing questioningly at the Doctor, and he finally registered Clara’s expression. The confusion and slight hurt that clouded her eyes broke through the haze of jealous anger that surrounded his mind and he fell silent. 

For a long moment, the only sounds in the kitchen were the clock’s rhythmic ticking and his heavy breathing. It was Harsh and loud, betraying the storm of emotions that continued to rage within him. His entire frame rigid with tension and the muscle in his jaw twitching occasionally as he stared back at Clara. 

A sliver of doubt formed in his mind. What if he had been wrong?

There was too much happening inside him, too many emotions swirling dangerously close to the surface, making him want to lash out. He was aware that he was on the brink of saying something he would later regret, the words burning like hot poison on his tongue. But hurting Clara because he was a bitter and selfish old man was unacceptable. And so, the Doctor did what he always did: he ran. 

With a quick stride he was next Clara, pushing her aside and rushing through the corridor toward the safety of his TARDIS, her doors already open and welcoming her pilot.

Clara stared in shock at the now empty kitchen, her mind struggling to make sense of what had just happened. Her eyes were transfixed on the spot where the Doctor had previously stood, half convinced that she had just hallucinated the whole thing. Maybe she had fallen asleep at her desk while tidying up after classes had ended and had dreamt going home and finding the Doctor there. 

A sudden worry that had nothing to do with the scene that had just happened and everything with past experiences with dream crabs drove her to snatch a magazine from her kitchen table and flip through it. The words made sense, and she could read the whole article. Ok, not dreaming then. 

The immediate relief was tempered by the fact that this whole bizarre and slightly surreal scene had actually happened. What could have possibly caused such a strong reaction from the Doctor?

As she went to put down the magazine when her eyes fell on the photographs displayed so clearly on the table, a ray of sunlight cutting through the half-closed blinds of the kitchen window illuminating them and a few dust particles dancing in the air.

Clara swallowed. Those photographs. Oh god. She hadn’t noticed them before, all of her attention having been focused on the Doctor.

Obviously, he had seen them. And judging from the torn manila envelope resting right next to them, the Doctor had been doing a bit of snooping around. Though Clara doubted he had ever expected finding those photographs. 

Were the photographs the reason for the Time Lord’s behavior then? 

Picking them up, she tapped them against the smooth surface of the table, not entirely unconvinced. Surely a few pin-up style photos, even if she was featured in them, weren’t enough to make him jump to the conclusion of her having found a new boyfriend. No, she was missing something, she was sure of that. 

Her gaze shifted from the photo’s in her hand to the Doctor’s red velvet coat slung on the back of the chair. Tentatively, she reached out to touch the soft material, recalling just how the silk lining had felt has it over her skin when she put it on; the way the Doctor’s scent had immediately surrounded her. His lingering scent and the softness of the lining had come together to create a comforting, but also sensual embrace. Her skin still broke out in goosebumps every time she thought about it.

God, it had been seemed like such a brilliant idea at the time. Help out a friend while acting out a little fantasy that she had been harboring involving a certain velvet coat and very little else. It had been so easy too to nick it when the Doctor had been going through another space hobo phase. He had never missed it. 

Not so much now though. Not when her alien best friend had practically run out of her kitchen clearly hurt, angry and confused. The only thing that reassured her a bit was the lack of the familiar whorp whop noises from TARDIS’ dematerialization. The Doctor hadn’t left, yet.

Clara cast a worried glance at the corridor’s wall. It pained her to see the Doctor like this, knowing that, even if completely unintentionally, she had hurt him. And a part of her wanted nothing more than to run after him and tell him everything she had been holding back since Christmas. 

A more cautious part of her, however, questioned whether going after the Doctor right now would be a very good idea, knowing how skittish the Time Lord normally was about conversations regarding the clearly there but never spoken of pink elephant that represented their complex feelings for one another. Or possible love interests on her side. Which there was really only one of, and he was currently hiding in his TARDIS thinking all the wrong things. 

Clara didn’t know if she should be laughing, crying or screaming at the absurdity of this whole situation. 

By now her happy mood had completely vanished and Clara gave her kitchen a dejected glance. The Doctor’s tea cup still sat on the table right in front of her, the tea inside having long gone cold. 

It was the sad sight of his abandoned cup that spurred into action. 

Lifting the coat from the chair, Clara spun around and took a step toward the door when she heard the crinkling of paper under her shoe. Frowning, she stepped aside and bent down to pick up the crumbled piece of paper and smoothed it out. 

It was a note and Clara recognized the handwriting of her friend before the words on the paper even registered. When they did she fought the urge to bang her head against the table and curse her stupidity as well as her friend. 

Why hadn’t she pieced the pieces together when the Doctor had said the name Jack? Why?

It all seemed so obvious now. 

With even more determination to set things right, Clara briskly walked out of her kitchen, the velvet coat clutched in her left hand. Once in front of the TARDIS’ door her hand paused on the handle as her nerves kicked in. They were going to talk about this thing between them, whether the Doctor liked it or not. They couldn’t carry on this dance forever. Not with the often times reckless way they lived their lives. 

She swallowed and took a deep breath before pushing open the blue wooden door.

The soft click of the TARDIS’ doors echoed slightly in the stillness of the control room. It took Clara a moment to locate the Doctor in the dim light. Hidden half in the shadows of the upper level, the Time Lord stood hunched over a worktable littered with books and papers filled with circles and lines. If he had heard her come in, he didn’t acknowledge her and remained staring unseeing at the mess of papers on the desk. 

Clara sighed as she gazed up at the Doctor, not needing to guess what was going on inside that incredibly vast and complex mind of his. Something deep inside her ached upon seeing him so dejected and knowing that it was partially her fault. Her fault for not telling him about her little side-trip as a model. But more importantly, for not making her feelings toward him clearer. She should have told him all of this sooner, had wanted to on so many occasion, but in the end, she had given into her fears.

Fear wasn’t always a superpower, she grimaced, her fingers gripping the velvet coat tighter. 

Although… maybe this whole thing could be good for them. Of course Clara did not want to see the Doctor angry and hurt, but his behavior had certainly put things into a perspective for her. His jealousy hard to miss, and even harder to misinterpret. Maybe the gruff man with the cross eyebrows felt more for her than a deep friendship. Maybe he wouldn’t reject her love as she had feared up until now. 

Reverently laying down the Doctor’s coat on the seat near the stairs, Clara made her way to the upper level. Her steps were light on the metal floor, her approach slow lest she startled him. The lack of reaction to her presence worried her and after hesitating for a second Clara gently touched the Doctor’s back between his shoulder blades. 

The warmth of her touch slowly seeped through the layers of his waistcoat and white shirt. His breathing altered a bit, but the Time Lord remained otherwise still. 

The muscles underneath her hand were rigid with tension and Clara had to fight the urge to press her hand down and try and massage the tension away. 

‘Doctor,’ Clara began before falling silent in search of the right words. 

‘Doctor,’ she tried again, more softly but with more conviction, ‘I promise you, I’m not going anywhere. I’m not seeing anyone, there is no boyfriend.’ _Just you_ , she silently added. ‘There has been a huge misunderstanding which has ended up hurting you. And it’s mostly my own fault.’ Clara sighed and stepped closer to him, wanting desperately to lean her head against his back, but also knowing that it would be pushing his boundaries too much. 

‘You and I have never been good with words, have we?’ she whispered, big brown eyes staring sadly at the floor while her mind flashed back to a certain café and an awkward hug and the lies that led to their temporary separation.

‘No, we aren’t,’ the Doctor acknowledged quietly without looking up. Both smiled ruefully at the shared memory. 

‘There are a few things I should have told you, not least about the photoshoot,’ Clara continued after a moment of shared silence, ‘but more importantly about other… things.’ There was an unmistakable emphasis on that last word and the Doctor finally straightened and half-turned to look at his companion. ‘Things,’ he questioned, the tone of his voice uncertain though she could see in his guarded eyes that he was aware of what the unspecified things entailed.

‘Yes,’ Clara nodded holding his gaze and letting her emotions play freely in her eyes, ‘things that have been waiting to be said since Christmas.’ 

Things so far left alone for fear of voicing their true meaning: a hand held out with an offer of running away together and a kiss on the cheek as its answer. 

‘At Christmas, you held out your hand to me and I grasped it because I had just experienced a lifetime without you. Without my impossible man. I…’ she swallowed and looked away briefly before returning her eyes to his, round and shining with unshed tears. 

The Doctor shifted, now turning fully to face Clara whose hand fell away from his back. He caught it and gave it a gentle squeeze. His previous anger evaporated as the pain and regret he had felt in their shared dream rose once more to the surface. The same regret he saw now reflected so clearly in Clara’s eyes. He wanted nothing more in that moment than to take away that pain.

‘I regretted so much not having been able to share my life with you. I’m not willing to go through that for a second time. Especially not when I know there will be no third chance.’ She caressed the back of the Doctor’s hand with her thumb as she spoke: ‘I want to share my life with you, all of it.’

‘Clara,’ the Doctor began, only to be interrupted by the next rush of words leaving Clara’s mouth.

‘I love you. Only you. There is no one else.’ 

There. The words were finally out in the open. 

The Doctor hissed softly at Clara’s confession and his hearts stopped completely before resuming their beating inside his chest so hard he feared they might actually burst free. The rush of emotions that followed was frightening in its intensity. It left him feeling sick and shaky but at the same time whishing the feeling would never go away because of the elation and sense of release that accompanied it. He had been scared after Christmas. Love was fickle and fragile, and so easily lost. A knowledge that had held him back from revealing his feelings to Clara. What if he had read too much into the dream? They had only just been reunited after discovering their mutual lies. Emotions had been all over the place that night. And so the Doctor had let his fear take over. 

Until Clara had stepped up. Once again she had been the brave one. And he the idiot.

Swallowing to fight the dryness in his throat, the Doctor lifted Clara’s free hand to his chest where she could feel the quick double beat of his hearts under the cool material of his white shirt. 

‘Do they tell you what I cannot put into words?’ 

Clara nodded silently and stepped close to him, freeing her hands from his and slipping them around his torso. The Doctor hesitated for a second before he enfolded Clara in his arms and pressed her close. Closing his eyes, he savored the moment and tentatively began to allow himself to express his love for Clara in return. Hearts still hammering, he smiled and inhaled Clara’s warm scent, forgetting the emotional roller coaster of the afternoon.

Until Clara broke the quietness.

‘Doctor,’ her voice was muffled by his clothes, ‘Jack-’ That name caused an instantaneous surge of anger to rise inside his chest. Clara, being so close to him felt the Doctor tense and rubbed her hands up and down his back to soothe him and continued. ‘is a good friend and I owed _her_ a favor.’ 

The Doctor froze.

Her? 

Sensing the Time Lord’s confusion, Clara pulled back enough to catch his eye before elaborating. ‘Her full name is Jaqueline, but she has always hated it. So instead she calls herself Jack just to mess with people. Unfortunately, you became another one of her victims.’

‘I … see,’ the Doctor replied slowly. Suddenly he felt foolish for having jumped to conclusions, his earlier guilt for making Clara the target of his anger and jealousy churned uncomfortably in his stomach, a complete and utter contrast with the feeling of lightness also present.

Clara did not have a new boyfriend error then, that much he now knew. But not the reason behind the photographs…

The image of red velvet on creamy skin flashed before his eyes.

‘So,’ he cleared his throat uncomfortably and stepped back, quickly finding he needed to establish a modicum of distance between himself and Clara if he wanted to be able to think somewhat clearly. He ruffled his hair and bit his thumb, clear signs of nervousness Clara was all too familiar with.

‘The uhm favor you owed _Jacqueline_ consisted of posing naked?’

A lovely blush spread over her face and neck, the Doctor observed still biting his thumb.

‘It’s called a pin-up, and I wasn’t naked, not- not exactly,’ her voice sounded far less steady in her ears than she would have liked. 

The Doctor’s eyebrows shot up in response. ‘Ah yes, you were wearing my coat… partially.’ Could eyebrows simply disappear? He thought his might if he continued to keep them so close to his hairline. 

‘It’s … I uhm… well…,’ Clara stammered, her eyes flicking over the floor and the objects around her, refusing to meet the Doctor’s enquiring gaze. Now it was her turn to be nervous. Not because she was embarrassed that the Doctor had seen the photographs. On the contrary, she had spent quite a bit of time fantasizing about his possible reactions to seeing them during the shoot. Would he have been embarrassed, perhaps even a little angry at her for stealing his coat? Or maybe something else? Something far less innocent than his normally clueless behavior, something darker that Clara had caught glimpses of on a few occasions. 

Now though…

It had been a weird afternoon with the Doctor’s mood switching so fast it had made her head spin. And for all intense and purpose it looked as if this dance they had been doing around the issue of their feelings was suddenly, _and finally_ , coming to a head. They were heading in an entirely new direction with their relationship. Which was exciting yes, as the butterflies currently creating a mayhem in her stomach were demonstrating, but the sensation was also mixed with that tiny bit of fear for the unknown. 

Clearing her throat, Clara resumed her explanation. 

‘It was for a charity event for a children’s hospital.’

One eyebrow dropped, though the other remained raised as if saying: elaborate.

‘Some of the uhm nurses and doctors decided to sell a calendar to raise money.’

‘By posing as pin-ups?’

Clara nodded mutely, caught in the Doctor’s penetrating gaze. 

‘I see,’ he responded in a contemplative tone, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Did he really, she wondered, starting to feel more and more nervous the longer the Time Lord looked at her with his inscrutable blue eyes. To her it seemed like something that had been rather straightforward at the time, i.e. help a friend in need, had just gained a whole new set of implications she hadn’t necessarily been prepared to deal with. Like, like his jealousy and-

‘But you are not a doctor,’ his voice cut through her thoughts and startled her back to reality. 

Was it her imagination or was he now standing closer than before? She was sure that there had been at least a few feet of space between them and now he stood close enough that she could smell his spicy scent which did nothing to slow her heartrate down.

Clara took a small step back, keenly aware of the Doctor matching her movements.

‘N-no, but they were short on a volunteer a-and Jack knows I have a friend who is a Doctor,’ she finished weakly. God, what must he think of her, all stammering and flustered because of one look from him. That, and if she was honest, also the knowledge that he had seen her wearing little else but his coat. 

Had he liked what he had seen? Whispered a tiny voice in the back of her head.

‘So by proxy you were a suitable candidate?’

‘Uhm…’ 

_Honesty is the best policy_ , Oswald, Clara silently told herself.

‘I may have pushed a bit?’

With what excitement had the more rebellious part of her jumped at the chance of doing this photoshoot, completely disregarding the small voice in the back of her head warning her of the possible consequences. 

Something shifted in the Doctor’s gaze at her words and Clara swore she saw his eyes darken a shade. Another step back and her back bumped into the bookcase behind her with a soft thud. There was no more space to flee. She was officially trapped, ensnared by his hungry eyes. 

A gasp escaped her, suddenly finding it a little harder to breathe as the Doctor invaded her personal space in a way he had never done before. Standing so close that she could see the flecks of gold in his irises. So close and at the same time still too far away. Her rational mind rebelled against her body which was craving to have him close that final gap. But as the seconds ticked by, Clara found herself giving in to her body’s needs embarrassingly quickly. 

If he could just step a little closer, just close enough to brush against her. She ached for the cool brush of his skin against hers. Or any form of touch really that could quench the rapidly rising fire inside her as she remained pressed against the bookcase. 

The Doctor’s entire focus was direct toward the woman standing in front of him, palms flat against the spine of the large tomes behind her and staring at him with wide brown eyes that betrayed all her thoughts and feelings. He saw arousal in them, hot like fire, mixed with just a hint of trepidation. 

Didn’t she know that he could notice every single way her body was reacting to him? Down to even the tiniest hitch in her breathing? 

The Doctor’s gaze flicked for a second from Clara’s brown eyes to her neck where he could see tiny goosebumps rising on her skin and down to her chest, taking in the deeper movements as her breathing increased. The way her cheeks had colored as she blushed, and if he closed his eyes and concentrated hard enough he was sure he would have been able to hear her blood flow. Her scent had changed as well, it had become richer and more pronounced, and making his head spin with images of exploring her body to see where it was the strongest. 

He once again met Clara’s eyes, their pupil blown wide causing the brown of her irises to almost disappear. His own body responded eagerly to the signals coming from Clara, and once more his blood heated up much like it had a few hours ago in her kitchen. When she licked her lips, his eyes followed the movement like a hawk taking in how the tip of her tongue licked first her bottom lip then the top own, leaving them slightly glistening and parted. 

Something coiled tightly in his belly and he felt himself stir.

‘Clara,’ her name leaving his lips in a sharp breath, ‘you’re playing with fire,’ he said in low tones, warning her.

But despite the rugged edges in the Doctor’s voice, his touch was tender when he reached for her right hand and brought it up to his chest. 

‘I know,’ Clara answered quickly and just as breathlessly, her fingers gripping his vest and slowly pulling him closer until there was barely any space left between them and she was forced to tilt her head to maintain eye contact. Her hand then slid upwards from his chest to the back of his neck where it was joined by her other hand and threaded her fingers into the soft, dark curls she found there. 

‘I know,’ she repeated, her voice a breathless whisper ‘I was hoping - the photoshoot, all I could think about was you, how you’d react, what you’d do … I-,’ her words tumbled out of her mouth in quick confessions that she was powerless to stop. 

‘Clara,’ he said in way of halting her rushed speech. Her name rumbled deep inside his chest as his accent became even more pronounced. The sound made her belly clench in arousal and a small noise of need to escape her parted lips. It caused her to blush and glance away in embarrassment. 

Her reaction didn’t go unnoticed. 

He repeated her name in the same tone of voice as before and was rewarded with the same tiny noise she had made earlier. 

His right hand rose to stroke her neck delicately, feeling her pulse jump under his fingertips. With his thumb, he tilted Clara’s chin until she had to look at him, pausing for merely a second, giving her the chance to push him away, before he closed the distance between them. She responded immediately, straining her neck to kiss him back while her arms wrapped fully around his neck to hold him close. 

They spent several minutes exchanging long open-mouthed kisses, hands brushing over clothes in eager exploration. Each time they met again after breaking for air, they pressed a little closer to each other until they could go no further short of fusing together. The contact was maddening, electrifying even, as both felt the sparks each time skin brushed skin. Clara was sure that if she opened her eyes, she would have seen tiny blue arches of electricity jump between them. It was almost too much and not nearly enough at the same time. 

A tiny sound of frustration escaped from Clara’s lips and she pushed purposefully against the hardening bulge she could feel against her lower belly, followed quickly by another slow grind of her body when the Doctor gasped into their kiss. 

In response to her actions, the Doctor picked her up, his hands leaving her sides to hold her thighs and encourage her to wrap her legs around him. This time the gasp resounding in the control room was mutual and they broke apart breathing heavily. The Doctor took the opportunity to gaze at Clara’s flushed face and glazed eyes, feeling a powerful surge of arousal at the knowledge that she was the reason for Clara’s current state. 

Clara was also busy with her own perusal of the alien man currently holding her in his arms, noticing his own disheveled state with a certain amount of satisfaction and just a little bit of wonder. Wonder for finally being able to be this close to him, hold him and kiss him. It hit her then, the reality of what was about to happen between them, robbing her of her breath just as much as the passionate kisses she had shared with the Doctor. It made her chest tighten, but also filled her with an almost overpowering need to show him exactly how grateful she was and express how deep her feelings ran for him. 

He was going to be hers. And she his. 

The Doctor caught the shift in Clara’s eyes, arousal being replaced with something far deeper and infinitely more complex, but managed to say little else than her name before she silenced him with a kiss that was filled with both love as well as a hint of desperation. Her small hands caressed his face, tracing over his eyes and cheeks and when they parted her thumbs ran over his lower lip as if she was committing even the tiniest detail to memory. 

He met her fervor with his own, quickly taking control of their kisses and swallowing any sound she made, suddenly understanding the change in his beautiful Clara when he caught a brief glimpse of her eyes. He too knew how important this moment was, how momentous the change would be for him, for her. Just as he knew that like everything else they did, it would be all-consuming and would leave them burning and hungry for more. 

His train of thoughts seized when a gyration of Clara’s hips made his mind go blanc. Clever girl. 

The Doctor readjusted his grip on her, feeling Clara’s legs tighten around his waist in response. His right hand trailed possessively over her thigh and hip sliding underneath the blouse she was wearing and upwards to cup her breast, pushing her bra aside and flicking his thumb over a hardened nipple. The needy sound she made shot straight through him. He repeated the action, but quickly became frustrated with the limited movement allowed by the garment Clara wore. 

He growled in frustration eliciting a giggle from the woman in his arms. Clara kissed the corner of his mouth to placate him before following the line of his jaw with one long lick. She nuzzled the spot where his jaw met his neck going up and taking his earlobe between her teeth. The Doctor shivered. 

‘Back,’ Clara whispered sultrily in his ear. 

It took him a second before he fully processed her meaning, but when he had, his hand was quick to locate the zipper at the back of her shirt and pulled it down impatiently which only caused the bloody thing to get stuck. 

Another growl came from his chest as the Doctor fought with the infuriating zipper while Clara continued to nibble and suck at his neck, soothing the bite of her teeth with her tongue. Despite the distraction, the mounting frustration towards the zipper was sobering enough to let the Doctor think a bit more with his brain instead of other parts of his anatomy. 

Were they going too fast? Would Clara regret it later? 

The doubt niggled at the back of his mind and Doctor paused eliciting a wine of frustration from Clara. 

‘Clara, I-,’ he began, pulling back a fraction to be able to look at her. ‘Are you sure about this? Aren’t there complicated Earth customs that I should follow before we…?’

She regarded him with a frown on her face as her brain struggled to understand his words through the fog of lust. Once their meaning registered, her chest swelled at the implication. _Stupidly amazing and sweet alien_. She kissed him deeply to silence him, trying to pour as much love for him as she could into it. When they parted due to air becoming a greater necessity, Clara rested her forehead against his. 

‘Those customs are about as boring as doors are to you,’ she laughed, tugging his shirt out of his trousers with a certain degree of impatience thereby signaling that the subject was closed as far as she was concerned. The Doctor huffed in feigned indignation while he resumed his struggled with the zipper at the back of Clara’s shirt. 

‘I’ll have you know that wind- uhmph’

He was cut off as Clara kissed him. 

‘Less talk, more action,’ she gasped when she pulled back. 

‘Yes ma’am,’ was his short reply before he trailed his lips down her neck leaving a trail of openmouthed kisses that shot pleasure right down to her core. The need to feel his skin against hers was quickly becoming more important than breathing. She managed to undo several buttons on his white shirt, the material offering brief glimpses of his pale chest as he shifted. Prominent collarbones and a smattering of silver hair were her rewards. She was quick to press kisses to his exposed skin while her hands explored the planes of his chest, fingers eagerly tracing over the wiry muscles. 

Clara barely registered the Doctor’s triumphant growl as he finally managed to get the zipper unstuck, too intent as she was to push the shirt of his shoulders entirely. They hampered each other in their haste, her trying to undo his cuffs, him trying to lift her blouse up and out of the way. In the end, the Doctor relented just long enough to allow Clara to pull his right arm out of his shirt sleeve before he ground out a ‘leave it’ and lifted her blouse and bra from her in one go. 

They moaned in unison at the skin to skin contact and the electric sparks that formed wherever they touched. The way they fit together, her soft curves pressed against his harder physique. Even the contrast in temperature between their bodies felt amazing. Clara’s body heat was searing against the Doctor’s cooler and sensitive skin, almost to the point that it made him dizzy with desire to be surrounded entirely by Clara’s tight, wet heat, while to her, his cooler temperature provided for a wonderful contrast with the raging fire that ran in her veins.

The Doctor lifted Clara a little higher up in his arms, groaning at the way her creamy white breasts rubbed his chest. He left a trail of wet kisses along her neck and down towards her chest. He nuzzled the valley between her breasts and gently bit the underside of her left one, leaving a redden spot behind and eliciting a moan from above him. 

He let Clara’s hands guide him to where she preferred his touch the most, suckling greedily at her breast while her fingers scratched the nape of his neck to hold him to her. His right hand trailed downward from where he held her waist to her thigh and sneaked under her skirt, caressing the soft skin there and gradually shifting upward.

Clara emitted a little whimper of pure need at the Doctor’s wandering touch and pulled his head up to kiss him.

‘Please, oh god, Doctor, I need-’ she pleaded with him in between hungry kisses.

‘What do you need?’ he pressed, his voice rough, rumbling up from his chest like the low rumbles of an approaching thunderstorm, full of promise, ‘Clara, Clara, tell me,’ he encouraged her, eager to please her, eager to claim her. 

He claimed her mouth in a searing kiss, plunging his tongue inside to tangle with hers before withdrawing and worrying her bottom lip with his teeth. ‘What do you want?’ he repeated his question, ‘What can I do?’

‘I- ah,’ her words got stuck in her throat when he tweaked one of her nipples with his fingers. 

Shit, she couldn’t think, could barely distinguish between the multitude of sensations the Doctor was making her feel let alone speak. 

‘I need to- I need you, more, all of you, closer, please, Doctor,’ Clara gasped as she trembled in his arms, her body seeking that natural high as she rubbed herself wantonly against him. She was aware she was close to begging, but when he rolled her nipple between his fingers again she decided she really didn’t care. The way he had voiced his question, not quite a demand but with enough firmness to remind her who was leading this dance, and the way his accent curled around her name, deep and resonating, sent shivers down her spine.

Clara thought she’d explode into tiny little pieces, or burst into flames or whatever other cliché she had read in those trashy romance novels she would vehemently deny ever having touched under any other circumstance. But god, she really would do all that if she wasn’t be able to feel more of the Doctor very soon.

Spurred on by her aching need to have him as close as humanly possible, Clara dropped her right hand to the front of his tented trouser and palmed the hard bulge giving it an experimental squeeze. His hips bucked at her touch and he hissed, almost dropping her in surprise. 

Quickly readjusting his grip, the Doctor lowered Clara to the floor making sure she was steady enough on her feet before letting go. She immediately reached out for him, gripping his shoulders as the sudden loss of contact left her feeling off-balance. His hands came to rest on the tomes behind her caging her in, the muscles in his arms and shoulder tense under her hands as they caressed him, coming to rest above his fast beating hearts.

The Doctor and Clara gazed at each other, their heavy breaths the only sound in the otherwise quiet control room. Two pairs of glazed eyes communicated briefly before they erupted in a flurry of movements. The remaining clothing became a constricting barrier of which they needed to rid themselves, immediately. 

Clara attacked the Doctor’s belt while he lifted her skirt and pushed her thighs and panties down forcing them to separate long enough to be able to slide them off Clara’s legs. Her shoes were kicked away unceremoniously while his belt went flying, landing with a clatter on the floor. As soon as he had managed to drag the clinging thighs off one of her legs, the Doctor straightened up and pushed her once more against the bookcase, this time trapping her there by pinning her hands above her head with his much bigger one. 

Clara keened and writhed against his hold as he lathed neck and collarbones, arousal and desire pooling hotly low in her belly with each pass of his tongue, each brush of his calloused fingers over her sides. 

A little lower, she silently implored him, just little. She wasn’t sure whether he had heard her unspoken message, but his fingers dipped down causing her to hold her breath. They traced first the curved of her waist and her hip, his touch feather light and maddening, before finally slipping down between her thighs where she was already so wet for him. 

The breath she had been holding left her in a low moan when the Doctor stroked her, one clever finger tracing her entrance before pushing further. 

‘Clara’ Her name came out strained and he knew it was impossible to mask the want in his voice. The woman currently undulating her hips and taking her pleasure from him certainly did not seem to mind that he was close to losing his control based on the hungry stare of her hooded eyes. Her tongue peeked out to lick her lower lip and it was enough to make him snap. 

Releasing Clara’s hands, the Doctor wasted no time in unbuttoning and unzipping his trousers, but Clara was just as quick at batting his hand away now that hers had regained their freedom. She pushed down the material of his dark trousers and underwear enough for his erection to spring free and wrapped her hand around it. She pumped him a few times in rhythm with the long finger slipping in and out of her, straining her neck to kiss him sloppily. He bent his back a little to accommodate her and swallowed her sigh of disappointment when he pulled his hand back. Shifting his stance a little, he effortlessly picked her up aligning their bodies and letting her sink slowly onto him. 

Clara tried to maintain eye contact with the Doctor, watch the different emotions dance across his face as they joined, but the sensations evoked by finally having his hard cock buried deep inside her proved too much. Her head fell back against a large book with a soft thud as her eyes slipped close and she arched her back, arms clutching him to her and her senses focused entirely on the feel of the Time Lord inside and around her. 

The Doctor stilled, drawing ragged breaths against Clara’s shoulder where he had buried his face the moment she had closed her eyes. Liquid heat all around him. Scalding him, squeezing him. 

He was sure he was going to embarrass himself if he didn’t slow down a bit. 

Rippling heat. 

Gods, it was absolutely magnificent and his body soon began to seek out its own pleasure. With his fingers gripping her thighs, he started to move. He knew he was leaving two sets of tiny olive-shaped bruises on her skin and he mouthed a silent apology into her shoulder. But it was so difficult to ease up, especially when he was finally so utterly entangled with Clara.

He flinched as pleasure spiked in his groin and travelled up his abdomen, spreading like an electric shock throughout his body. A few tentative thrusts soon became harder and faster with Clara’s breathy incitements consisting of combinations of yeses and fucks and his name all mixed together. She was clutching him so tightly to her, an edge of what could almost be termed as desperation in the way Clara held him, her heels digging in his buttocks while her hands roamed over any bit of exposed skin she could find. 

A long moan escaped her at a particularly deep thrust. She could feel herself getting close to that imaginary edge, the muscles in her belly and thighs already coiled tight because of that burning pleasure. With trembling fingers Clara pulled at the disheveled mass of curls that was the Doctor’s hair, bringing him level with her face so she could kiss him. It was messy and uncoordinated, with tongues stroking the other, then breaking apart to gasp or moan as they moved inexorably closer to their climax.

The Doctor slipped a hand between them pressing down on her swollen clit, feeling the first flutters of her orgasm around him. In response, Clara sobbed his name in between breathless kisses, twisting and shuddering in his arms until suddenly she stiffened and a low keening cry was torn from her throat, back arched and head thrown back. He faltered in his rhythm, a cry escaping him as well at the vice like grip around his cock. 

Another time, when would have better control over himself, he would try to prolong both their orgasms for as long as possible, savor the moment and all of the sensations evoked by being connected so intimately. But for now everything was too new, too raw and nature demanded a conclusion. 

With a roar the Doctor wrapped his left arm around Clara’s back to cushion the impact of his last few frenzied movements, while his right hand gripped her hip to hold her as close as was physically possible as he buried himself one last time inside her before the universe exploded behind his eyelids. 

He came with a shout, emptying himself inside Clara, face twisted in a grimace of utter satisfaction. He barely registered the strangled moan coming Clara who was still caught in the last remnants of her orgasm and clung to him as they trembled with the aftershocks of their climaxes. The room around them fell away as they simply basked in the afterglow, floating on a natural high of endorphins and happiness. 

When the Doctor began to register his surroundings once again, the first thing he became aware of were the gentle fingers combing through his hair and running soothingly down his neck. Up and down in time with is breathing, slower and slower as he gradually calmed down. Clara was also nuzzling him, planting tiny kisses on his cheek and jaw and nuzzling the damp gray curls on his temple. He shifted, wrapping both arms more securely around her back as he noticed the shaking in his knees and the tingling sensations that reached all the way to his toes. 

‘Clara,’ he croaked, turning his head slightly to gaze down at her.

Clara hummed in reply and with some effort managed to open her eyes and return the Doctor’s gaze. She was met with a pair of the bluest eyes she had ever seen as they shone bright and clear, no worries and fears dulling them. It was difficult to swallow down the lump that formed in her throat at the sight. Understanding just how precious this quiet moment was, she traced his left eyebrow with her index finger, following the contour of his nose and then back over the arch of his eyebrow committing even the tiniest detail to memory.

It was beautiful. He was beautiful. And he was finally hers. 

A radiant smile spread across her lips lighting her whole face up and reflecting in her own loving gaze. In that moment of silent contemplation between them, the Doctor knew that snooping around Clara’s mail had probably been one of his better decisions of lately. What could possibly be better than seeing her love for him shine in her eyes and the freedom of finally being able to be with her, and in return show her just how immense his own feelings for her were?

He laughed, suddenly and happily, and kissed her, and then stumbled as his leg gave away causing Clara to shriek. The Doctor righted them before they could fall, but he was forced to lower Clara to the ground thereby breaking the spell. She stood on equally shaky legs and giggled, blushing in embarrassment. A pang shot straight through his hearts at the sight and he bent down to kiss her again, tucking a stray lock of her hair behind her ear and cupping her head in his hands.

Kissing Clara Oswald was fast becoming his favorite addiction he decided. How he had ever thought possible to live without experiencing this was beyond him.

As the kiss came to its natural end, Clara took his hands in hers, entwining their fingers together. 

‘I,’ she began, before falling silent as took in their disheveled state: the Doctor’s rumpled shirt hanging off one pale shoulder, two buttons still buttoned at the end and trousers sagging on boney hips, her own skirt, twisted horribly at her waist and her left leg still inside her tights ‘I should probably get cleaned up a bit,’ she held his eyes, ‘Will you join me?’

Blinking owlishly, the Doctor nodded.

To be honest, he would have said yes even if she had asked him to go for a walk on Jupiter, without space-suits. But he had to admit that as the high slowly wore off, he started to feel sweaty and sticky, so perhaps a wash wasn’t such a bad idea. Even better if it was a wash with Clara. 

Giving him a quick peck on the lips in acknowledgement of his agreement, Clara stepped back and shimmied out of her skirt and thighs. She giggled when she caught the enraptured expression on the Doctor’s face. He flushed at being caught staring at Clara’s naked form and turned around, busying himself with fastening his trousers back up until he felt a hand on his forearm gently forcing him to turn back around. 

‘You are allowed to look, you know,’ Clara told him gently, understanding that he would need some time still to get used to this, her prickly, no-hugs Doctor. 

To push him just a bit, she brushed not so accidentally against his front as she made her way to the stairs, hips swaying slightly while the fingers of her right hand trailed lightly over his belly. A small, secretive smile tugged at her lips upon hearing the quiet hiss coming from the Time Lord. 

Blue eyes followed her movements keenly as she moved past him, admiring and committing the sight to memory. It was then that he saw the reddish-blue discolorations marring the skin of her shoulders and upper back. 

In a flash, he saw himself and Clara in bed, his Clara fast asleep and lying on her front, his hand gently tracing those bruises on her back left by the sharp edges of the book covers. He shifted, moving up her body to brush feather light kisses that glowed in soft hues of gold in the darkness of his bedroom leaving nothing but porcelain white skin in their wake. 

His vision lasted barely a second, not even long enough for Clara to notice his momentary distraction.

The briefest of smiles tugged at the corner of his lips, a sense of contentment filling him as he watched Clara walk past, safe in the knowledge that he would take care of her later.

For now, the Doctor caught hold of Clara’s hand as it touched him and let her guide them down the stairs and out of the console room, happy to follow her wherever she would lead him, the sleeve of his shirt flapping slightly behind him.

_Fin_


End file.
